


Layers of Regret

by strainedpatience



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Don't say I didn't warn you, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Hospital AU, Other, This is going to get a little rough so hold onto your seatbelts guys, Will update tags as they apply per chapter etc, lots of dark stuff ahead, yeah i went there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strainedpatience/pseuds/strainedpatience
Summary: The difference between acceptance and denial is a very thin line that you constantly stumble between.  Your brother thinks that recovery is only a few steps away if you only try a little harder.  No one understands that it's never that easy.  You find yourself in Sierra Mental Hospital as a last ditch attempt at being normal.  How were you supposed to know that your own personal hell could get any worse?Brought to you by Bad at Summaries™ Incorporated





	1. Brace for Morning

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE read the tags before reading. There is some triggering material in here and I want everyone to be safe.
> 
> That being said, welcome to LoR! This is a story I've been contemplating for a while now. The events, schedule, and environment are all based on my personal experience in a mental hospital. This story is a way of acknowledging that experience so I can better cope with it while still enjoying some of my favorite characters. There will be fluff to drown out all this sads I swear.
> 
> Anyway, that's LoR. Hope you enjoy! Constructive criticism and reviews (or comments in general) are always welcome!

**6:01am  
** The nurse’s hand is cold as she pushes against your shoulder.  You are roused with a conscious thought of being encased in ice, your body frozen in time, out of your control, but it feels nice.  The sense of peace envelopes you.  It sneaks into the deepest crevices of your mind and smothers the warmth that lives there, forcing everything to go quiet.  You wish you could stay like this forever.

 

Her hand is there again, intruding, prodding, finally yanking you away from your peaceful, icy dream and into a more uncomfortable reality.  Your body shivers in response, but it is not the cold that relieves you in your sleep, it is only the air conditioner, set to temperatures that are meant to keep your blood flowing so you don’t succumb to frostbite, or perhaps hypothermia, at the very least.

 

“Dave,” her voice is the last cue you need.  Your eyes flutter open, a crimson gaze that easily settles into a half-hearted glare.  It matches her own.  “You know the routine,” is all she can supply, “I have twelve other patients to see so let’s get on with it before the hour is up.”

 

You can’t hold the glare for much longer than that, you don’t have the energy to, so instead you push what little is left of it into forcing your body up and into a sitting position.  She pulls on the cord of a blood pressure monitor and straps it around your arm.  As the machine whirs she bends down to pick up a thermometer, one of those ancient relics that still slips underneath your tongue.  The monitor is pulled away and the thermometer pushed between your lips when she asks them to part.  You do so reluctantly.  The taste of cold mercury and steel make your tongue want to lurch away from the item, but you have been through this countless times before, you know it will only take longer if you don’t cooperate.

 

The item ends up in her hand once more.  She must be satisfied with the results because she tosses the equipment back onto her cart and pushes it from the room without so much of a mutter under her breath in departure.  You let your body slump against the pillow again and welcome its embrace despite how your head pressed awkwardly against the mattress.

 

You didn’t have a fever this time.  If you had, she would have told you.  If you had, she would have stayed, she would have brought you pills, she would have sent you back to bed for the rest of the day.  You would get out of the group therapy session, you would have a good reason to skip lunch, you would be allowed to let the icy touch of unconsciousness welcome you into its arms and be at peace for more than a few hours.  Sometimes, you wish you could rig your temperature.  The all-telling thermometer knows the truth and speaks it to all, however, so you take what you’re given and let your eyes slip shut again.  If nothing else, you can still allow yourself one more hour of sleep.


	2. No Rest for the Weary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing more characters! I promise these chapters will get longer as time goes on. I really hope I'm not prying on a dead fandom, here. 
> 
> TW for flashbacks/self harm

**7:04am** ****  
****  
  
Sleep evaded you.  

Getting out of bed was both easier and harder when you were already awake.  Spending an hour tossing and turning was hardly a restful experience.  Being made to wake up after expending that much energy on trying to get comfortable would put anyone in a bad mood, but you were known for your moods, as much as you were known for your insomnia, so the second morning-shift nurse did not bat an eye when she slipped into your room to find you already awake and picking out your clothes for the day.  She did, however, offer you a pitying frown.

 

“No sleep for the restless, huh?”  She leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.  The side of her pixie-cut presses against the wood of the door, bending some of its shape, but she doesn’t seem to mind.  

 

You shake your head and begin reach down.  Your fingers cling to the back of your shirt and you pull it over your head.  You hate being so open with any of the staff here.  Anyone but Kanaya.  “And no rest for the weary.”  You reply as you always do.  It’s become a code of sorts between the two of you, and it makes you feel less alone sometimes.  Kanaya shakes her head.  She opens her mouth again and you know she is going to offer to up your dose of melatonin again, so you cut her off before she can.  “I did get some sleep, though.  Just lost the ability to knock myself out after check-ups this morning.”  Her eyes are persistent, so you continue, “I’ve been sleeping a lot better lately, I swear.  Upping my dose won’t do anything besides make it even harder for me to get out of bed in the morning.”

 

She finally relents and raises her shoulders in a casual shrug, “Can’t say I didn’t try.  You ever change your mind, though, you know where to find me.”  She nods toward the bathroom that sits in your bedroom a few feet from the door.  “You better hop in the shower before all the hot water runs out.  You know how fast it goes once everyone is up-an-adam.  If you can manage to beat the crowd I’ll see about getting that red band for you before lunch.”

 

“Is that your idea of motivation?”  You reach for the hem of your pants but manage to keep them on your body until you can disappear into the bathroom.  There’s no door, but they have the courtesy to hang a cheap shower curtain where it should be, so that’s where you finish stripping.  You can’t see Kanaya anymore but you know she’s shrugging again, you can hear it in the silence.  You reach for the shower knob and turn it to  _ scald _ .  A comfortable middle temperature doesn’t exist here, so every morning is a battle between an icy fortress or Mordor itself, there was no in-between.  It was better to pretend the water was seering the sins off of your body rather than succumb to blue lips and the shivers.  “I’ll do my best to be out of my room in time so you or Kathy doesn’t have to come kick me out with a broom and a shaking finger,” the snark drips off your tongue and you wait for her equally snarky reply, but there is none.  When you’re met with more silence you realize that she must have given up with you and gone to continue her morning routine of rousing the other kids.  You know it’s only part of her job, and someone probably dragged her away without a good-bye, but you somehow still kick yourself over it.  

 

You lose yourself in the sting of water against your back.  The shower barely makes a dribble, there is no constant stream, so washing yourself becomes tedious and some days you skip it all together.  Your mind wanders, forgetting where you are, forgetting why you are here.  You think back to the days when you would watch beads of crimson drip down your thighs in the shower.  The room was always filled with steam and sometimes that made it hard to breathe, but the weight that filled your lungs was worse, so you accepted the steam as a pleasure.  The cuts stung like fire against your skin.  The water made them scream when you couldn’t yourself.  

 

You remember dropping the razor with a clatter and a muffled curse under your breath as your brother’s fist banged against the door.  He needs to take a shit, but your skin is red from the scalding water and there’s blood on your thighs and on your arms and clouds in your head and stars in your vision.  You tell him to give you a damn minute and take the few seconds you are given to clean yourself up.  The blood is sponged into the towel that you wrap around your waist and with wet hair and tired eyes you yank the door open to face your brother, but your hand meets a cheap shower curtain instead, and your brother’s eyes aren’t that chilling orange that you remember.

 

Kanaya’s gaze tears away because you’re here again, you never left, and you realize that you greeted your favorite nurse in only a towel.  The curtain is replaced again and you tell her you will be out soon.  She doesn’t leave this time and you know it’s because time time passed while you were in the shower than you were aware of. You’ve disappointed her, you know it’s because you’re late and she can’t leave until you’re ready to come out of your room with her, she could get in trouble if she lets you stay in the shower all day, so you put up with her and do you best to be quick.  

 

You lower the towel and find that your legs are void of any blood.  Only old scars are left in its wake, telling sickly tales of your life before this.  You want to make more.  You want to feel the relief that comes with it.  You want to feel sane again.

 

You settle for moderately okay, instead.


	3. When Memories Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Implied sexual assault (very, very vague) and explicit/foul language.
> 
> We get a little look into what first started Dave's long series of being fucked over in life, and, gASP, WHO COULD THIS NEW CHARACTER BE?

**9:00am**  
  
  
  
  
Breakfast was two cold pancakes drowning in a sea of cheap maple syrup, one questionable sausage link, and a sad attempt at bacon. At least you think it’s bacon. It’s kind of limp in your hand and it reminds you of a bad day in highschool. It comes with a plastic spoon that carves into your food as well as a plastic spoon can, which isn’t well at all.

 

The food is served to you in the Main Room, not the cafeteria, because you weren’t good enough for a Red Band today, you don’t deserve it, so you stick with your cold, soggy food and shut up. The plates are those stupid styrofoam containers you get for to-go and take-home meals at restaurants when you’re too full to scarf down the rest of it.

 

The ‘inmates’ as you like to call them pick up their styrofoam boxes in a line one after another with you and take a seat somewhere. The tv is off, no one is allowed the remote until noon. The ‘Jailbaits’, those with a Red Band, are eating hot food on real plates in the cafeteria, sometimes they even get forks with their meals. They’re kiss-ups, all of them. Goodie-two-shoes who obey every rule and pretend to actually be recovering so they get all the privileges, and think they’re higher than everyone else. You can’t believe how close you came to becoming one of them.

 

Your gaze is set on the pancakes as you push your spoon around in the syrup and make warped patterns out of the sticky substance. One of the nurses clears his throat and tells you to at least try and eat your food today. You raise your eyes when you hear your name called, and realize only after it’s too late what you had done. You can hear snickers from some of the other Inmates, murmurs about your eyes, and your gaze quickly sets on your food again so you don’t have to look at them. Your glasses are a “dangerous object”, something you could use to harm yourself. You weren’t allowed to bring them into the hospital with you and that above all else has set your recovery back. You hide your emotions easily behind the glasses, hiding their color is only a plus side, but its hard to do either when the nurses won’t even let you see them. Kanaya promises that she will work something out so you can have them in the Day Room where the nurses can see you, but only when you’re a Red Band. Around the Inmates, you’re a red-eyed demon, but you wonder if that’s better than kissing someone’s ass just so you will be treated like a human being.

 

You manage to fork down one of the pancakes and half of the sausage link but find your way to the trashcan with the rest before you can get any more down. You tried for the bacon, you really did, but the memory sticks with you and makes your breakfast want to crawl back up your throat before you even manage the first bite. You force the bile down for the most part and silently toss the styrofoam container into the open trash.

 

“Did you hear about the new kid?” You shift your gaze to the side where the roommates two doors down from your room are gossiping again. Most of the Inmates don’t care, but a couple stand out. The Jailbaits always care. They treat any rumors like the monthly Hollywood magazine, true info or not, and spread it around like it's going out of style. You manage to get back to your seat without letting on that you’re eavesdropping.

 

“You mean that kid with the stupid teeth?” The other continued, “Yeah, I saw ‘em last night. Poor fucker came in at near three in the morning. They unstrapped him from the gurney right away because the kid wasn’t putting up any kind of fight, he just went along with it, like some kind of fucked up robot. Didn’t see much before Kathy caught me up but I know he’s in check-ins now, probably doing all that paperwork and getting the strip-down by now. Should be out any minute now.” Their smirk went wide, “You think he’s gonna be a Red Band? He looks compliant enough, probably kissed up to the nurses already. That’s why he’s taking so long in there.”

 

The former kid snickered, “You’ve gotta be kidding, right? With a stupid face like that, kissing up is all he’s got going for him. Bet you he’s in there sucking dick or something to try and win his way out of here.”

 

You feel the bile rise in your throat again and this time you can’t stop it. You’re lurching to your feet and headed for the toilet, where you empty all the contents of your stomach and hack up whatever bile and spit is left. Your pale knuckles clench on the edge of the toilet seat as you heave in thin breaths and force the memory down further, smothering it in thoughts of razors and relief instead.

 

You hope the new kid knows what he’s gotten himself into.


End file.
